The Art of Being Ruthless
by femegade
Summary: They call her the Butcher of Torfan. But not many know Adrianna Shepard for the woman she really is, nor why she had quit the Alliance to work in that seedy club deep within The Wards. And when a retired turian general becomes interested in her she finds herself battling an unwanted attraction to a rather unfriendly Spectre. FemShep/Saren
1. Tragedy at Mindoir

**A/N: So… I had some ideas tearing at my skull and decided I wanted to write about a Ruthless Shep and provide some background as to why she became the Butcher of Torfan. I'm not totally sure I like the name, but whatever, I couldn't think of anything better :P**

**What I can't decide on, is the romance interests. I'm thinking Saren, because frankly, I'm obsessed with that bastard. I'm also up for suggestions as I'm curious what everyone would rather read about. So let me know your preference and, while I can't _do_ them all, I _will_ take them all into consideration - and yes it has to be a turian ;)**

**Choices: Saren, Nihlus, Garrus, Councilor Sparatus, General Septimus, Others?**

* * *

_**Mindoir 2170**_

The window fogged with her breath as she watched the congregation taking place outside. From what she could make out of the muffled voices, an alien ship had just made an emergency landing and was in need of fuel. These aliens were stranger looking than any she had ever witnessed before. During her sixteen years of life she had seen asari, salarians, and even very few turians, but never one of _these_. They had two or three sets of eyes – exactly which number she couldn't quite make out. Several nose ridges lined the center of their faces. The folds of their skin were accentuated by the red face paint that adorned their russet skin. They were curious individuals and she wondered if she'd be able to meet them up close before they left Mindoir.

"Adrianna, dinner is going to get cold," her mother stated in an angry tone. She'd been nagging her for a while now, but the new arrivals were far more interesting than the bland vegetables that were a result of the colony's poor, dry harvest.

"One minute, Mom…" the girl muttered, giving her mother the benefit of a one-second glance over her shoulder.

She looked back to the scene outside to watch her father speaking to, what appeared to be, the leader of the visitors. Everyone typically referred to Adrianna's father as the colony's representative when it came to aliens. He'd often studied the cultures of the other races, and therefore had a penchant for inspiring peaceful relations. She watched intently as the alien leader grinned at something her father had said. The unsettling uncertainty that had hung over the adults' faces had finally begun to wash away. _Leave it to Dad, _she thought with relief. She was about to push herself away from the window pane when, to her horror, the alien leader raised his gun. From that point, time seemed to move in slow motion; however, not slow enough to have any chance of turning the tide of events that followed.

She heard her mother's gasp behind her as the muffled discharge of the weapon filled the room. "Adrianna, get away from the window!" She felt a strong grip grasp her shoulders, pulling her away until the bloody scene disappeared from view. Her mind, however, still hung on to the image of her father falling to the ground at the alien's feet.

Holding on tightly to her teenage daughter, Hannah peered out of a much smaller window, the name of her deceased husband hanging on her lips like a ghost. Now was not the time to mourn. She needed to get Adrianna to safety; the batarians were heading for the houses!

She grabbed the teenager sternly by the shoulders. "You need to find somewhere to hide."

Adrianna narrowed her hazel eyes defiantly. "No." She knew what her mother's intent was, and she wasn't going to allow it. There were too many of them and they would overwhelm her within seconds, no matter how good her aim.

"Adrianna, what have I always told you?" Hannah Shepard came from a strict military background, and she always made certain to instill the same discipline into her daughter.

"Do as I'm ordered, no matter the cost," the teen replied. From a young age she'd been taught to transcend emotional boundaries to accomplish what is necessary. This, much to the dismay of her father, was a strong trait her mother held on to throughout the years. It was the reason she survived the First Contact War as a hero and retired from the military as a renowned naval captain.

Hannah allowed herself an appreciative smile as she took in her daughter's maturing features. _I taught her well_, she thought proudly. It satisfied her that she could leave this world knowing that, even without her parents, Adrianna would be strong enough to survive this cruel galaxy and develop into a woman even Hannah could've looked up to. "Go now," she urged.

Adrianna took one final look at her mother's emerald green gaze before running off to the adjoining kitchen to tuck herself away in a dark, cramped cabinet.

Once her daughter was out of sight, Hannah readied her heavy pistol, preparing to take down as many as she could before meeting her end. As she suspected, it didn't take long before the batarians were bursting through her door. The first to cross the threshold, she shot in the head. He fell back, pushing the following intruders back out the door. The delay bought her only a short time to collect her nerves and level another shot. The weight of the firearm felt comforting in her hands, like a close friend. She recalled the time she had led a small team of inexperienced soldiers on Shanxi. They held back the Turian force with limited ammo and were eventually reduced to using mere pistols. The one that had protected her that day was much like this one, its weight almost identical.

She unloaded on two more batarians that pushed their way through. As she prepared to take on the next few assailants, the crashing of glass filled her ears. Suddenly remembering the window that had overlooked the horrific scene, she quickly turned to put down a fourth batarian that had taken aim on her from outside. A pain in her gut indicated that he must've shot through the window to break it, successfully striking her in the process. Knitting her brows she pushed passed the pain to face more that had begun piling through the door, one handling some fairly crude netting. _Slavers_. _Their arrival at the colony was certainly no accident._

The roaring adrenaline in her ears finally dissipated enough for her to hear the cries of women and children echoing outside as they were being captured, killed, or worse. Batarian slavers were not known for treating their potential cargo kindly, and she dreaded to think of what those that invaded her house would do to her or her daughter. Forcing herself to drown out the painful shouts, she focused on her aggressors.

One stared hard at her, a sneer on his ugly face. "Why don't you put the gun down, human? We don't want to have to kill you. It would be such a waste."

"Forget this one!" another snarled. "She's too much trouble for the return."

Hannah clenched her jaw, peering through the crosshairs which lingered between the closest alien's sets of eyes. _This is the end of the line for me, Adrianna. Take care of yourself my daughter._ Holding her breath, she took the shot; the look of surprise on the batarian's face evident even before the round struck its target. Before the body even had time to slump to the floor, her ears rang with the sound of return gunshots. The shots quickly became muffled until they faded into a distant, indiscernible resonance. The pain had subsided before she even noticed it existed, the numbness taking over. She hadn't even felt herself fall to her knees. Nor could she see the batarians that had assaulted her as her world faded into a grey haze.

* * *

Adrianna wasn't sure how long she'd been bathed in the safe darkness of the cabinet. The screams within the colony died off long ago, however she was afraid to face whatever waited for her outside the comfort of the blackness that surrounded her. Her mother was dead and she cursed herself for allowing her to die alone. Despite the relief of being alive, she felt like a horrible coward. She lowered her head until her forehead touched her folded-up knees. Her body ached from the cramped space that was barely large enough to fit her small frame. Even so, she'd wait here a while longer, until she was certain the aliens had gone.

The teen had barely drifted off to sleep when she heard a noise; the _swish_ of a door. It was closely followed by a _clank_; the sound of a boot against the metal flooring. The muffled sound of more footsteps filled her ears, followed by a sigh and the creak of armor. Adrianna clenched her jaw, silently praying that she wouldn't be found by this new presence as the boot trail loomed closer. She nearly breathed a sigh of relief as it proceeded past her hiding place and towards the back door. _Please leave_, she thought hopefully. _Please…_

She waited a few minutes, listening intently for additional movement. After a while of waiting, the footsteps shifted and backtracked, stopping right before the small row of cabinets she claimed as her concealment. She held her breath, praying that they would move on. She'd survived too long for it to all end now…

Suddenly the door to the cabinet flung open, pouring the bright light of the afternoon into the darkened space. A turian crouched before her, blue avian eyes studying her curiously. "You're lucky batarians don't have a keen sense of smell, human. You reek of fear."

She scowled at him. "Go away," she snapped.

His eyes widened in shock at her response. "You should be more respectful, girl. I _could_ just leave you here if you'd rather."

"Good." If he wasn't going to kill her, he could at least leave her be. She would fend for herself until the Alliance arrived to survey the attack and rally survivors. She most certainly didn't want to go with this unknown turian.

"Everyone else is dead," he explained. "And it will be a while before the Alliance shows up to help you."

Adrianna simply frowned at him in response.

"Fine," he said finally. "You may stay here with the corpses."

Rising to his feet she could no longer see his face and the stunning blue eyes that had stared back at her. It made her suddenly feel very lonely. As he started to walk away, the pace of her heart beat sped up anxiously. The sudden thought of being left all alone in this colony of dead and decaying bodies suddenly disturbed her. "Wait!"

Squeezing her way out of the narrow opening on hands and knees she scrambled to her feet and took off after the departing turian. She left the kitchen only to be met with the horrid scene of her mother laying face down in a pool of her own blood and surrounded by the bodies of those she killed before meeting her end. Adrianna gasped and placed her hand over her mouth, trying to keep herself from vomiting.

The turian who stood amidst the bloody scene looked back at her, a calm expression on his pale face. "She fared better than most. Had she still been alive she would have prayed to the spirits for this fate."

Adrianna felt the tears sting her eyes as she looked upon the body of her mother, riddled with wounds, the blood slowly drying over them. Hannah Shepard died as she had lived, bravely. Would Adrianna ever be able to possess the strength her mother retained until the very end? She hoped so.

"Let's go. We're wasting time here."

Adrianna tore her gaze from her mother's lifeless body to peer up at the turian who stood impatiently before her. "Who are you anyway?"

His back straightened and he bristled, surprised by the sudden question; or was it her change in tone and expression? Though dampness was still clearly visible in her hazel eyes, her features were now as stony as her voice. "I'm a Spectre."

The girl nodded absently. She wasn't sure what a _Spectre_ was, but she also wasn't going to admit it to this seemingly supercilious turian either. "You don't have a name?"

"You don't need to know it," he retorted. He didn't need this girl throwing his name around, leading everyone to believe he was a human sympathizer.

When the human girl finally moved, she did so carefully around her mother's corpse, taking care not to disturb it. However, he was surprised when she stepped, more forcefully than was necessary, onto the back of a fallen batarian which lay at his feet. Even with the added height under her feet, she wasn't even close to being eye-level with him. "I'm Adrianna Shepard," she said, holding out her hand. He was not quite sure what to make of this one. The girl was quite brash. It was a trait he expected in humans, however not in one quite so young. Ignoring her outstretched hand, he stared into her hazel eyes. There was something different about this one... Quickly letting go of the thought, he released a short scoff, he turned on his heels and left out the door. It was only a few moments later that he heard the girl come trudging after him.


	2. Butcher of Torfan

**A/N: Thanks for the votes! I was happy to see people would like to read another story with Saren ;) Here's a little bit more background on our ruthless Shep before we get to the tasty core. Enjoy!**

* * *

_**Alliance Fleet 2178**_

A heavy silence hovered over the debriefing room, accompanied only by the nearly inaudible hum of the ship. Commander Adrianna Shepard enjoyed the quiet while she still could. It wouldn't be long before the admiral and captain arrived to question her. Lightly running her hand over the cool metal of the control boards which lined the outer rim of the room, she reflected on what questions or accusations with which she may be faced. As she began reviewing a few possibilities in her head, she could hear the soft _click-click_ of dress shoes approaching. Shifting her position to the middle of the room, she stood tall, chin up and arms tight against her sides just before the door opened and the two men entered.

"Admiral. Captain." She greeted them with a respectful salute, which they each returned.

"Commander."

The admiral was the first to speak. "I won't waste time beating around the bush, Commander. Tell me. What happened on Torfan?" Admiral Hackett's expression was stonewalled while he asked the question; however, Shepard could tell he was near the breaking point with her. They'd been through this far too many times before and the interrogations were getting old.

"I got the job done, sir." It was the response she had given many times in the past. And even though it had rung no less true, this time she felt different about it. Sure, she completed the mission as she was always known to do. This time, however, it had become personal. Not only that, but she had sacrificed many soldiers finish the job; to _finish_ the batarian slavers.

"Indeed you did. That's why we sent _you_." The admiral shot a sidelong glance at Captain Anderson who had remained uncharacteristically silent. "However, there is something that concerns me, Commander. During Major Kyle's debriefing, he mentioned that the deaths suffered under your command could have been avoided had you withdrawn your unit."

True enough. They were in deep and under heavy gunfire. However, turning back would've meant giving up the mission. Commander Adrianna Shepard never gave up on a mission. "Some _may_ have been able to survive a retreat. But, their deaths were an unfortunate consequence of completing the mission objective."

"The Major claimed he ordered you to pull out, but instead you pursued the slavers deep into the heart of their base where you clearly had a disadvantage. You disobeyed a direct order, Commander." He raised a bushy, grey brow, peering at her expectantly.

"I received no such order from Major Kyle, sir. My unit was already deep into the base when the order was apparently given and the comm signal was cutting out." Obviously bullshit, but she knew the admiral and she was the best they had. He wouldn't have sent her if he expected her to back out before the job was done. And a faulty comm system was simply something she needed to state for the record.

The admiral only grunted in reply to her claim. "Additionally, several in your unit reported that the batarians had surrendered. Yet, you personally executed each one. Is that also true?"

"Affirmative." Her voice remained hard and unfaltering.

"Please help me to understand why that is, Commander."

Why? She had asked herself that question each time she had unloaded a round into each of the kneeling batarian's skulls. A large part of it had been revenge; revenge for her parents deaths. For the deaths of friends. For the torment each prisoner suffered at the hands of those monsters. She had seen the eyes of few that had escaped captivity of these slavers. They'd been empty and broken. But mostly her reasoning had been to spare others of the same, horrible fate.

"May I speak plainly, Admiral?"

"Proceed," the admiral responded, sweeping his hand in casual affirmation.

Captain Anderson silently shifted beside the admiral. He'd often worried when Shepard spoke _plainly_.

_Am I so predicable? _she thought with amusement, noticing the captain's fidget. Clasping her hands behind her back, she spoke. "As you know, I am the result of a slaver raid. I've experienced first-hand what these monsters can do to human colonies. However, unlike many, I was fortunate enough to survive without suffering captivity. _That_ is a fate worse than death; so much so that many captives who manage escape no sooner commit suicide. These slavers not only kill, but they destroy an individual's essence, leaving behind only a shell that does not know a life without suffering. And when three-fourths of my unit _died_ trying to rid our galaxy of this evil, I knew those slavers would not get away with the things they've done, nor would they have the chance to spread more of their taint across the galaxy. I put the lives of innocents above mine, and those of my unit, so that there are no more children cowering while their friends and family are murdered, raped, and sold into slavery. That, Admiral, is _why _I ended their lives rather than allowing them to go free."

Both men stood silent and unmoving for a time, the Commander's words weighing heavily on them. They knew of the threat posed by the batarian slavers; what they did to human colonies. That was why they had been hunting them down, wasn't it? They needed to be eradicated, and Commander Shepard finished the job as they both knew she would.

"I'm glad we were able to clear this up, Commander," Admiral Hackett finally said after a short silence. His eyes crinkled with contentment while his mouth refrained from making his approval too visible. "You lay low for a while and leave the fallout to me. It may take some time, but this whole thing will eventually blow over. You've done us all a great favor, after all."

Anderson sighed in relief following the admiral's statement. He'd hoped Shepard would escape from this mess unscathed. Each time the woman returned from a mission, Anderson feared for her reputation. She was cold, calculating, and took whatever means necessary to get the job done. Though he didn't always approve of her methods, she never failed. But he knew it was only a matter of time before she did something to warrant a dishonorable discharge. Thankfully, now was not the time.

"Actually, Admiral, Captain…" she started, addressing them both. When her superiors gave her their full attention again, she continued. "I'll soon be putting in my resignation."

Anderson's eyes nearly popped out of his head at her declaration and he sputtered. "What? Why?" he choked out.

"I no longer feel that I am fit to lead. Also, as you well know, I have a difficulty following orders with which I do not agree, especially when it conflicts with my mission objective. This unfortunately does not leave me many options."

Anderson's gaze shifted from Shepard to Hackett, hoping that maybe the Admiral would say something to sway her decision. When he didn't, it was the captain who finally decided to speak up. "Please reconsider, Commander. There's no need to resign. We can provide you with another role within the Alliance if that is your wish."

She shook her head. There was nothing in the Alliance for her outside the N7 spec ops and they both knew it. Besides, she had finished what she was set out to do. What would be left for her after Torfan? Besides, she felt like she needed time to find herself; to find a new purpose. In the midst of her reflecting she noted the disappointment on the captain's face. David Anderson had been with her since the beginning of her military career. He was the one who'd recruited her and had been her mentor. And despite their disagreements, he had always been there for her, acting as the parents she'd lost eight years prior. "I've made my decision."

"I'm sorry to hear it, Commander," Hackett said solemnly. "Though, do know that you always have a place with the Alliance. If you wish to return you may be reinstated into the N7 ranks, no questions asked."

"Thank you Admiral."

When the admiral finally left the room, Anderson released a sigh, shaking his head in discouragement. "Are you sure I can't change your mind, Shepard?"

"Believe me, it wasn't an easy decision. However, if I stayed I can't see it ending well for me, or anyone else under my command."

"I see…" He still didn't understand. Shepard always appeared to have a passion for her work. Did the events of Torfan affect her more than she cared to show? "Where do you plan on going after this?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure yet." Indeed she had no idea. Earth held no personal interest for her, so that was out. She'd always wanted to check out Omega. Apparently it was a lawless place and could prove to be quite interesting… She wasn't even sure what she would do for money. Her pension would only likely provide a meager means of survival.

"Well if you're ever near the Citadel, make sure you visit. You know you're always welcome."

The Citadel… She hadn't considered it. She'd been there briefly a couple of times and found it to be beautiful, however somewhat unexciting. She supposed it may be worth a shot if nothing else were to suite her tastes. "Thanks Anderson. I'll consider it."


	3. A Change in Occupation

**A/N: While this Shepard is ruthless, I'm aiming to make her as likeable as possible while not deviating from her personality (which is very duty-driven and a little crazy). I hope I succeed with that in this chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

_**Citadel 2179**_

Adrianna Shepard stared at her reflection in the mirror, grimacing. The outfit Chora's Den provided their wait staff was horribly distasteful with its scant covering and shiny, rose-colored _fabric_ – if it could even be called that as it was more like painted-on vinyl. If only she hadn't failed the bartending test by accidently poisoning that salarian. She may have then been able to avoid wearing this unbearably demeaning outfit which was much too identical to what the strippers wore. The outfit did cover enough to hide some of her scars, specifically the large gash across her ribcage she'd received while infiltrating a slaver ship. It was a vorcha who had managed to get close enough to slice her. The infection caused by the alien's claws disturbed the healing process so when it finally mended, the result was a little ugly. At least she proved she could take orders and deliver drinks and therefore could ensure the outfit would remain _on_, which was more than what she could say for the dancers.

Tucking a lock of raven hair behind her ear, she contemplated on how she'd managed to find her way here to begin with. If it wasn't for that little incident in Afterlife, she could have remained there on Omega, doing the odd jobs that Aria trusted her with and paid well for. The pirate queen of Omega was a bitch, but apparently Shepard's methods were too extreme, even for her. Said she drew too much attention to herself and to Aria. But what did she expect when the Blue Suns were tracking her every move? She had no choice but to take care of the problem. It was only an unfortunate coincidence that the slums had caught fire that same evening.

"Better get out there, honey. Time is money," a man proclaimed. Fist, the club's owner trudged by to quickly make his showing before returning to other business, but not without landing her a good, loud smack on the rear.

She ground her teeth, her gaze sourly following him as he made for the door. She stared hard at his back as he left, picturing a knife hilt sticking from it. _That _fucker she'd kill the first chance she got.

After glowering at her reflection one last time, she swallowed her pride and plodded out into the noisy club.

* * *

The familiarity of the club eased Septimus Oraka's spirits the moment he walked through the door. He was a regular patron at Chora's Den and he rarely left disappointed. He glanced around the dimly lit space to see some of his usual pretty dancers practicing their talents gracefully. However, tonight, he wasn't here to see them. Tonight he had other business to which to tend.

"General! It's great to see you this fine evening!" Fist exclaimed, his human arms splayed wide as he approached the turian.

"Fist," Septimus replied with a nod.

"So who will it be tonight?" the club owner asked, raising his eyebrows knowingly. "Raeia should be ready shortly, however Xio and Eran may be a while yet."

"Actually, I'm here to meet a colleague of mine."

"Oh." The man looked disappointed.

"His name is Saren Arterius. Has he arrived?"

"Not yet. But your usual table is vacant if you would like to have a seat."

"Thank you."

Fist escorted the general to his typical seat in the club, the table uncharacteristically empty. As Septimus seated himself in the familiar spot, the club owner scanned over the sea of patrons until he found what he sought. "Adrianna!"

Septimus followed Fist's call to where a human female was serving some customers their drinks. When finished, she began making her way towards them. The freshly retired general had to admit, the way the woman moved caught his attention. She didn't step gracefully like the other waitresses, but rather sturdily and with purpose. However, that was before one of the customers at a passing table decided to make a grab for the woman's rear. For a moment he thought he saw the placid expression on her face falter before she halted dead in her tracks. A roar of laughter erupted from the table. The group, consisting all of human males, began giving the grabber what humans liked to call _high fives_. The moment Septimus thought the woman was going to continue on, as any typical waitress would, she gripped one of the man's wrists and in one swift movement, twisted it until he was on the ground wailing like a child.

"Adrianna!" Fist shouted, bristling with rage.

She immediately unhanded the man and shot up straight, her back ridged and at attention. Septimus thought this a curiously trained response. When she finally approached the table, Fist was shaking.

"What do you think you were doing? You do _not_ assault customers!"

Brown eyes starburst with green nearly smiled in amusement, though the rest of her expression remained stony and unresponsive. "Sorry, sir. But that man grabbed my ass."

Septimus had to hold back a laugh. This woman was definitely ex-military. Though what she was doing working at this seedy club was beyond him.

Fist reeled back as if stunned before leaning in to speak in a lowered voice. "If you want to maintain employment here, I suggest that the next time someone grabs your ass, you ask them if they'd like a drink with that."

"Yes sir," she replied simply.

"Now, get the good general whatever he wants. He's one of our regular patrons and tips rather well – so long as you don't fuck up."

As the man walked away to leave her with her customer, the woman's flat expression fell into a scowl. "What can I get for you?" she asked, finally turning her attention to the turian.

Septimus shot her a grin as his gaze fell over her features. Her human skin appeared soft, but he could make out little scars in various places. He wondered if there were more under the glossy material that covered the rest of her body. Dark hair fell over her shoulders in long waves, and while he never found himself captivated by human hair, it made her appear somewhat exotic. It was the asari to which he was typically attracted, however now he wondered why he'd never tried being with a human. It wasn't until he came across the wavering impatience in her hazel eyes that he promptly shook himself from his reverie.

"Yes, sorry. I would like a Javelin on the rocks. Oh, and a water with a slice of cepuros for my friend." Saren, he knew, rarely drank alcohol. Said he didn't like anything messing with his mental clarity. He supposed that made sense, since the Spectre's work never ceased.

He noticed the woman's confused stare as it darted to the empty seat across the table and back to him. A single dark eyebrow arched as if inwardly questioning his mental health. But if she thought it, she didn't say it.

"Uh, he will be arriving soon," he added quickly.

She nodded, seemingly accepting the fact that he wasn't exactly crazy. "Anything else?"

He wanted to say 'yes' so he could keep her here longer, but he simply shook his head in the negative. Taking that as her queue, she turned on her heels to leave.

"Thank you. Adrianna," he said before she could escape him.

She glanced over her shoulder, giving him a slight smile. "Call me Shepard."

_Shepard_, he thought when she finally left. Where had he heard that name before? He couldn't be sure, but it was vaguely familiar. It also left him feeling slightly disturbed. But why?

It was then that a resounding voice jolted him from his musings. "General."

His attention collected itself enough to focus on the unmarked, alabaster faceplates of his old colleague. "Saren! Good you could make it."

Without another word, the Spectre took his seat across from the turian general, prepared to begin their business. Icy blue eyes shifted warily towards the bar, but the interest was only momentary and he quickly returned to the matter at hand.

* * *

After placing the order, Shepard waited patiently for the drinks to be made, as was the instruction to all waitresses. Since Chora's Den typically catered to the less prestigious populous, it was her job to ensure the drinks were not tampered with. While waiting she found her thoughts wandering to the general. The turian seemed quite the gentleman. Though she couldn't help but notice the way his gaze had swept over her with blatant interest. It was rather flattering.

When the drinks were finally ready, she grabbed them from the bartender, set them on the awaiting tray, and made her way to the table. Another turian had seated himself across from the general and was currently engaging him in conversation.

The moment she approached near enough to overhear, their conversation ceased. The general greeted her with a pleased expression as she set his drink before him, however his acquaintance simply ignored her presence.

"Anything else I can get for you, General?" she asked, taking the other turians disregard in stride.

"Please, call me Septimus," he replied, flashing his razor-sharp teeth in a grin.

The general was oblivious to the scowl aimed at him by the other turian, however, it was not at all lost on Shepard. For a moment she allowed her eyes to roam over the other patron, somewhat curious as to what his deal was. She couldn't quite place it, but this turian was hauntingly familiar.

"What are you looking at, human?" he snarled, finally shifting his icy gaze toward her.

A familiar sensation shot into her gut as he peered up at her and it sent a shiver down her spine. The pale coloring of his plates, his blue eyes, even his scowl were features that stood apart from others of his species. But the way he regarded her - as an annoyance – ticked her off. How dare he address her as _human_? Did he feel he was superior to her? Did he have any idea who he was speaking to?Suddenly the need to know why he was strangely recognizable was buried beneath her flared irritation.

"Looks like nothing from where I'm standing," she spat. Turning abruptly on her heels, she trudged away before she could even see the look on his face. She'd hoped it was one of disdain. Fucking bastard. She thought she heard the general call after her, but couldn't make it out over the blood boiling in her ears.

Reesha was more than happy to cover the table for the remainder of the turians' stay, knowing how generously the good general tipped. Shepard, on the other hand, was content enough to deal with the leers and nasty comments from the other patrons, far away fromthe icy glare. She felt strange for avoiding him, as it was not characteristically her way. If there was a problem, she dealt with it. However, her typical way of dealing with problems was not particularly accepted outside her habitual environment. And she wasn't sure she wanted to be booted from this place as well.

Closing time finally rolled around, much to Shepard's relief. The entire night had tried her patience. At least on Omega she was treated with a bit more dignity since she had a history and worked for Aria. There had been numerous who feared her, knowing her only as The Butcher of Torfan. And since many she had to either kill or intimidate were batarians, The Butcher's persona worked out rather well. Here, however, she was not known nor feared and she wasn't sure if it were a blessing or a curse.

After seeing to it that her tables were wiped down to military standards, she was more than ready to peel off this horrible outfit, throw on her boots, and return to her meager living quarters. But it was then that she saw him from the corner of her eye; the general moving toward her like a graceful predator. She hesitated, really not in the mood for a confrontation, not to mention feeling somewhat embarassed by her unconventional way of avoiding the earlier conflict. If she moved fast enough she may be able to hide, but how fast could she be? Real fucking fast! She was almost to the door when the general called out to her.

"Shepard!"

_Fuck your stocky human legs and these impractical shoes!_ Shepard chided herself bitterly. She closed her eyes tightly and reopened them before turning to face the turian.

"What can I do for you, General?"

"Septimus," he corrected.

"Septimus," she blurted back.

"I'd like to speak with you, if I may," he said, stepping towards her. "I must apologize for my colleague's behavior earlier."

Crossing her arms over her chest, her hazel eyes regarded him with faltering patience. She just wanted to leave. "That it?"

Shaking his head, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit chit. "I was disappointed that you hadn't returned to our table. I wanted to make sure I gave you your tip. I was quite… happy with your service today."

Well, Shepard certainly wasn't going to argue with money. She liked money. She took the chit with an appreciative nod. "Thank you, general."

"Septimus," he told her.

Old habits die hard. "Septimus."


	4. The General's Offer

**A/N: Thank you soooo much for the reviews! It really helps to know when I've done a pretty decent job and readers are anticipating another chapter, so keep it up and I will too! **

* * *

For the rest of the evening, Saren Arterius couldn't get his mind off of the human female he'd seen at the club. What was she doing at the Citadel? Last he knew she was on Omega, doing the type of work that better suited her expertise. She had successfully made a name for herself, not only within the Alliance spec ops, but within the Spectres as well. He'd overheard the council and other Spectres whispering her name before she disappeared from the Alliance roster. It had taken some digging to locate her again, only to find that she was working for Aria T'Loak, the overseer of Omega. While not the most optimal choice, Aria was known to choose only the best for her employ. It could have been all uphill from there. And while he hated the idea of humans having a place in galactic society, he couldn't deny that she would have made one hell of a Spectre.

He remembered that little human girl on Mindoir. The fire had burned so brightly in her eyes, even after all the horrors she'd witnessed. Any lesser individual would've been broken and traumatized. He didn't know what had possessed him to keep tabs on her after handing her over to the Alliance. He should've just let it go and not involved himself in a human's existence. But for some reason he was curious; curious about what the human would do with the life he'd given her. And, up until tonight, he wasn't entirely dissatisfied. She had become a masterful killer with a strong focus on completing any mission she was handed, no matter the cost. The Alliance was lucky to have someone like her; someone to take on the jobs on which the upper echelon preferred to turn a blind eye. But now it had seemed that she had discarded that part of her life. And though he shouldn't have cared, he couldn't help but feel disappointment.

* * *

The next night, Shepard suddenly found her job quite a bit easier. She didn't know why, but many of the patrons now seemed more respectful than yesterday. Some had even been giving her looks of awe. Relieved at the lack of ass grabbing and gnarly comments, she went about her business, shrugging off the whispers that had radiated from the tables she passed.

As she stood at the bar, waiting for an order of drinks to be made, she caught someone staring at her. Glancing to her left she locked gazes with a scarred krogan. His crimson eyes almost smiled as he studied her.

"What are you staring at?" she snapped. His scrutiny was beginning to make her rather uncomfortable.

"A fellow warrior it would seem!" he declared with a laugh.

She narrowed her gaze at him as if he mocked her. "What are you going on about?"

"Are you not Adrianna Shepard, The Butcher of Torfan?"

Shepard made a face. "Butcher of—" She wasn't surprised by the label she'd been given, but more by the krogan's knowledge of it. "How do you know that?"

He laughed again. "Your face is plastered all over the vids."

"The vids?" she gasped. Anxious heartbeats suddenly pounded against her chest. Why was she on the vids? Were they finding reason to hunt her down? Was she now being considered a war criminal? _The Butcher of Torfan_. That would explain why none of her customers would mess with her. Would she need to move on again? Find somewhere remote to avoid bounty hunters? So many thoughts passed through her head; and all of them less than positive.

"Calm down, human. Your people were just making a statement about your involvement on Torfan. Apparently the batarians have been up-in-arms about the whole ordeal and they're now putting it to rest." He shook his red-crested head at her surprised expression. "You need to get out more."

Her shoulders slumped in relief. Looks like Hackett held up to his promise. "Thank you for the news update—"

"Urdnot Wrex. Remember it well."

"Well met, Wrex," she said with a nod. "You can just call me Shepard."

He grinned wickedly. "I kinda liked _The Butcher_ myself, but whatever."

As soon as the drinks were ready for delivery she bid the old krogan farewell. As she headed for her table she could see the general from the corner of her eye, seated in the exact same spot as yesterday. His table was empty and she wondered if anyone had yet waited on him. She contemplated stopping by after delivering this order. That was, until she saw Fist approach the general. _Probably taking time to suck up to the high paying customers,_ she thought sourly.

After dropping off the drinks to a couple of salarians, she turned to find Fist heading straight for her.

"Adrianna!" he said, much too pleasantly.

She didn't bother to hide her look of contempt. Everything about this man rubbed her much the wrong way and she couldn't stomach being in his presence for more than a minute. "What is it, Fist?"

"It would seem that the general has no interest in his usual dancers today. Instead he wants _you_."

"M-me?" she sputtered.

"Yeah, I was a bit surprised by that too," he murmured thoughtfully.

Shepard made a face, not liking the way he said that. "Sorry, I don't dance," she said dismissively. She was about to push her way past him when he grabbed an arm to hold her back.

"You do now. The general is willing to pay _a lot_ of money to see you shake your ass on that table."

"I was hired as wait staff, not as a stripper!" she snapped.

"Well, for today, your job just got a little bit more fun. And better paid." He grinned at her sour expression. "Let me put it this way. You _don't_ do this, you no longer have a job here. You catch me?"

She could feel her teeth grinding with rage. He was leaving her no choice. Right now, she needed this job. There was no way around it. "_Fine_," she snarled, shoving her tray at him. "Tell Reesha to cover for me."

"Have fuuuun," he sung as she pushed past him.

She stared down the general as she approached. Yesterday, she almost liked the turian. Today, she hated him. She couldn't believe he wanted _her_ to dance for him! It was infuriating! Who did he think she was?

She stood before him, hands on her hips, glaring with intense fury.

"Shepard," he purred, flashing his teeth at her. "Please, have a seat."

She reeled back in shock at his request. "Weren't you expecting a dance?"

Septimus shook his head _tsking_. "Is that what Fist told you?"

She nodded, her expression skeptical.

"While I would most certainly _love_ to watch you dance, I simply wanted your company. I thought it only fair that I pay to make it worth your while. Unless… you were looking forward to dancing," he rumbled, his eyes trailing up and down her body.

She felt herself blush at his roaming gaze. "I'd rather not."

"Then please, sit with me."

After lowering herself into the other chair she peered at him questionably. "So, was there something you wanted to discuss?" She felt odd sitting here, technically working, but not. She _was_ getting paid to do this, however. Still, she quickly scanned the club, relaxing slightly when she found Fist nowhere in sight.

The general looked somewhat sheepish. "Actually, there was. Yesterday, when you told me your name was Shepard, I thought it was quite familiar. It wasn't until watching the galactic news today that I realized why."

"Oh… _that_." She sifted uncomfortably.

"Don't worry, Shepard. I, for one, don't judge what you had to do on Torfan. Had those slavers gotten away there would have been additional colonies invaded, more deaths, and—well, you get my drift." At her nod he continued. "I want to offer you an opportunity, Shepard."

"An opportunity?" she asked curiously.

He nodded. "I've been helping C-Sec investigate some illegal arms deals that have been going down in The Wards lately. I've attempted to employ the services of the Spectres, but they unfortunately feel this is below their concern."

"The Spectres?" Her interest was piqued with his remark. Somehow the mere mention of that name riled a curious sense of familiarity.

"Yes. They are an elite group of agents appointed by the Citadel Council. I've been able to obtain some information through them, but they have not been allocated much time in assisting with this matter." He shrugged.

"Hmm…" She knew something like this would be right up her alley. However, there was the concern of payment. She wasn't about to give away her time freely.

As if reading her thoughts he added, "You will be very well compensated."

Now, that's what she liked to hear! "What do you need me to do?"

"Actually I'd rather not reveal too many more details in public." He paused giving a brief moment to an idea already formulated. "When is your next night off from work?"

Shepard blinked at him in surprise. "Uh, tomorrow actually."

"Perfect," he growled. His sand-colored eyes flashed with anticipation. "Meet with me tomorrow near the Presidium's reception desk. We can talk more about the details, what it entails, and perhaps even get to know one another better.

She arched a brow at the last part. "Is this a briefing, or a date, General?"

He grinned, mandibles flaring as he chuckled. "Perhaps both if my ulterior motives are not ill-received."

Her cheeks warmed at his solicitous attentions. For as long as she could remember, she'd found turians quite enticing. Maybe it was their feral appearance and demeanor. Or perhaps the danger their claws and teeth presented and the strength of their physique. One psychologist friend she'd confided in about her strange attraction chalked it up to Mindoir. She said that the nature of Shepard's traumatic experience would have caused her to cling fondly onto the memory of the one who had rescued her. In all honesty though, she couldn't even remember what he'd looked like, aside from being turian. Did he even ever tell her his name?

"Tomorrow it is then," she confirmed.

"Excellent! Can you be there around 16:00?" He looked pleased when Shepard nodded affirmatively.

With a grin and the exchange of a sizable credit chit for her time, Septimus took his leave. She wasn't sure what excited her more. The prospect of additional income. The appealing subject matter of the job and the ability to get her hands dirty. Or the general himself. In either case, she looked forward to the change of pace that tomorrow would bring.


	5. Private Encounters

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! It's good to know when readers are enjoying. Please let me know what you think about this next chapter. Hopefully I'm going at a reasonable pace with the story. As always, feedback is awesome and helps me to improve!**

* * *

On the evening of the next day, Shepard met the turian general at the agreed upon location, near the Presidium's reception desk. However, after a brief greeting, she was surprised to discover that his intentions were, in fact, to discuss their dealings in the privacy of his very own apartment. She thought it a bit odd that General Oraka wouldn't have had something a bit different in mind. However, despite some slight hesitation, she agreed. He was trustworthy enough, after all. Besides, a large part of her was curious about Septimus Oraka's person. And there were many things you could learn about someone from their private quarters.

When they arrived at the general's apartment, which amazingly wasn't far from their meeting place, Shepard was in awe. It was a rather large, spacious place and spectacularly decorated with sleek, metallic designs. Rooms flowed into one another gracefully and were lit by soft, warm lighting. The entire space felt very open, yet rather comfortable. She could make out the faint trickle of water somewhere, which beautifully contributed to the soothing, ambient atmosphere.

After they were seated in the living room of his rather striking apartment - drinks in hand - Septimus began explaining to her the details of the illegal arms trade while she listened intently. He began right with the attacks on military cargo ships. It was clear that the pirates weren't objective in their attacks; targeting the vessels of every race, including the Alliance which, most certainly hit home for her. An intense flame ignited in her hazel eyes when he'd proceeded to give her the details of the raids. The pirates had left no survivors, save a fortunate few who'd managed to hide. He also went on to explain how the weapons extracted from these cargo ships were now being sold throughout the galaxy, however, he had reason to believe many of them were being stored in the Citadel's very own Zakera warehouse.

"And that's where you come in," he told her.

Her expression brightened with excitement, though her tone remained placid as she imagined tracking down the dealers, deep into the far reaches of the varrens' den. "Go on."

"Your current employer, Fist; I know he's been purchasing weapons from these dealers," he explained.

His statement didn't surprise her one bit. Fist was slimy, and no doubt his dealings didn't stop at merely illegal arms, but extended to red sand and slave trade as well. However, those were other matters and part of the reason she'd pursued a job at that particular establishment.

"I need you to find his office at Chora's Den," Septimus continued. "See if you can locate any evidence which names contacts or locations."

She waited for him to say more. When he didn't, her eyes narrowed crossly. "And…?"

Septimus swallowed hard, her sudden change in mood causing him discomfort. "And then you just need to bring the evidence to me. I'll take care of the rest."

Her look of disappointment was made quite evident. "That's it…?"

The general nodded hesitantly.

Shepard couldn't believe that was all that was expected of her. This was the job she had been anticipating? Frankly, she was rather offended. "You've got to be kidding," she scoffed.

Septimus peered back at her questionably. "Is there a problem with the assignment?"

She shot him a sarcastic smirk. Did he really have no idea what she, The Butcher of Torfan, was capable of? A routine mission for her was docking pirate vessels in mid-flight, only leaving when she was certain every last one had been dealt with accordingly. Soldiers were once sworn to follow her into the bowels of hell, never certain if they'd even return alive. She'd lain to waste hundreds of batarians, armed with a mere hand cannon! And now she was being asked to snoop around in some scoundrel's quarters to search for evidence so someone else would get the chance to take down the bad guys?

Leaning close, she placed a hand on his upper leg and peered at him sharply. His breath hitched and he emitted a deep, almost inaudible growl in response to her intimate proximity. "So what you're saying is… You want me to play the little snoop while you get to have all the fun?"

"_Fun_?" Septimus shot her a surprised expression. "Shepard, I don't really think…"

She leaned in closer, her face nearly centimeters from his. His sweet breath of anticipation fanned against her skin. "You know what stimulates me most, Septimus?" she purred.

"Tell me," he rasped in response, his interest obviously piqued.

She liked the sudden change in his tone and the way her nearness was seemingly affecting him. "The thrill of hunting down the enemy while they run like scared pyjaks. The excitement of a fight, with odds not in my favor. Dodging the enemy's counter fire, wondering if the next shot would be good enough to take down my shields."

The turian's breath grew quicker as her voice softened with tantalizing silkiness. She could see his chest rise and fall with his awakening arousal and it brought a smile to her lips.

"But you know what's really satisfying?" she hummed.

"What is that?" he asked through a needy growl. This time it was he who neared closer.

"Pursuing my query into the unknown and personally bringing them to justice."

Septimus' sandy eyes widened, but she could still see his arousal lingering along with his touch of fear. Not to mention his fit turian clothing made poor attempt to conceal it.

"You are quite formidable for a human. I'll give you that."

Shepard glanced down playfully at his visible excitement. "I take it you have a thing for formidable women."

"In all fairness were you groping my leg rather furiously," he stated with a grin.

"Was I?" she asked with an innocent shrug.

"You are quite the tease, Shepard," he reverberated. After a slight pause he continued. "So, you've made your point; the assignment does not quite fit your level of expertise. However, you are still our best hope for obtaining the intel. Will you still accept?"

Smiling mischievously, she leaned back into the couch and shrugged. "It's quite a bit tamer than what I'm used to. But sure, why not." She downed the rest of her drink before continuing. "However, next time, try to offer me something a bit more interesting."

His avian gaze roamed over her leisurely form suggestively. "Oh trust me, Shepard. _Interesting_ will be an understatement."

Her soft pink lips curled up in a wicked grin. "Is that so?" She wondered… was he truly interested, or was he just playing with her? The question spurred a slew of enticing images that made her curious to find out.

"Another drink?" he asked, interrupting her ever-wandering thoughts. His expression, however, alluded to nothing.

_What a shame_, she thought. It had been a long time since she'd had physical contact with another; even longer that she had been with a man. The last time had been with her previous employer. Aria was one for providing a little more compensation to her most favored employees. For a short time it seemed something had even begun to erupt between the two, however that was quickly snuffed out when the bitch booted Shepard's ass out of Omega.

Though lost in thought, her mind returned just in time to catch her gaze roaming over the general's body. Despite all the differences between their species, she couldn't help but find turians insistently sexy. No doubt the alcohol was only helping to elevate her persisting sexual tension. Maybe after a few more she'd be too tired to even think about it.

* * *

The next morning Shepard awoke bleary-eyed and disoriented. Her head was pounding and she couldn't clearly remember how much she had ended up drinking. Shrugging off the urge to remain within the confines of the thick, warm blanket which covered her, she brought her hands up to rub away the last of the blur from her eyes. A slight chill prickled her skin as her soft coverings slid away. She reluctantly dragged herself into a seated position on the couch and blinked in confusion. _Couch?_ Not her couch. This one was soft and plush, rather than stiff and pleathery. As the feeling of dread quickly replaced the chill, she glanced around at her surroundings. Not her couch and _definitely_ not her apartment. To make matters worse, her clothes were apparently missing, which seemingly explained the coolness she felt. Thankfully though, she was still wearing her undergarments.

She tried to think back to the previous night's events but could only remember being in Septimus Oraka's apartment and liberally partaking of his offered beverages. Apparently, though, she'd had too much. Now here she was, mostly naked and on the turian general's couch! What did they do? How far did they go? And was she _that _revolting that he'd banished her to the living room?

"Oh damnit to hell!" she hissed, her voice hushed so as not to be heard by the general. She had to get out of here! But where were her clothes? Desperately, she checked the entire proximity of the couch, tilted a nearby ottoman, and even crawled around on hands and knees in search, but to no avail.

It was then that she'd heard a sound upstairs; a soft shuffle. Septimus! By the hells, she couldn't imagine facing him after… after whatever the hell happened last night! No doubt she's already made a fool of herself.

_You've got to leave! _she silently urged herself. Immediately giving up on the search for her clothes, she grabbed the blanked she'd been wrapped in, draped it around herself to conceal her exposure, and bolted from the apartment.

She felt an overwhelming sense of relief as the door to the elevator closed, with her securely inside. She hadn't been seen. Good! And with any luck, he'd maybe even forget she was ever there! Freeing a sigh as the lighted numbers ticked down, she came to the realization that he may in fact, notice the absence of his blanket. If so, further confrontations could get complicated…

Suddenly her breath caught in her throat as the elevator halted at the fifth floor. _Shit! Why now? _Waiting for the door to open, she pondered on the ability of some to use a cloaking device in order to hide themselves from view. How useful that would be right now... Before she could even finish the thought, the doors _swished _open to reveal a turian wearing an impressive set of armor which matched his pale plating. She identified him right away as the rude prick she'd seen with General Oraka in Chora's Den. Though she'd only met him briefly, he immediately succeeded in rubbing her the wrong way.

The turian glanced at her momentarily, his expression revealing nothing, not even a sense of recognition. As if not caring to acknowledge her presence, he advanced into the elevator and systematically stared at the door.

"Strange to find you here," he stated flatly after a few moments of chilling silence. "Aren't your quarters in the Wards?"

She gaped at him in astonishment. "How do you know that?"

He bristled as if caught off-guard by the question, but didn't respond. Mandibles clamped tightly against his face, he proceeded to stare directly ahead.

Despite his avoidance of her gaze, she couldn't help but examine his profile. His coloring was unique, and much lighter than most. It reminded her of alabaster; light grey with darker grey tones. Also, she noted, not many turians wore cowls over their fringes as he did. This article, in particular struck her interest.

"I know you from somewhere," she blurted after a while of insistent scrutinizing.

"Indeed. I had met with General Oraka at Chora's Den, two evenings prior."

"No, besides that."

He shrugged. "I'm a Spectre. It wouldn't be a surprise that you'd recognize me elsewhere."

"What's your name then?"

"You don't need to know it, human" he bit out.

His response unsettled her, but she wasn't sure why. It struck her with a bizarre sense of déjà vu. It was then that she remembered she'd never learned the name of the Spectre who had rescued her from Mindoir. The response to her inquiry had been so close to this Spectre's; almost identical if she recalled correctly. Did they all respond that way? There was no way this was the same one who had given her a new chance at life. Right? Before she could press him for more information, he finally turned to look at her. His expression wavered for an instant as he finally took in her odd state of dress.

"Ground floor," he told her flatly.

"Huh?" It had taken her a moment to realize he had been talking about the elevator. She'd been so distracted by her thoughts that she neglected to acknowledge they had reached the ground floor of the Presidium. Gripping tightly onto the blanket, she stepped out of the elevator and into the bright, artificial sunlight of the Presidium grounds. The warmth of it reminded her of Mindoir and the days when she would play alone in the fields.

"So why not tell me your name?" she asked curiously. When her question was only met with silence she turned to find the mysterious Spectre nowhere in sight and the elevator left empty.

* * *

Septimus sipped at his morning tea, reflecting upon the curious human female who had bolted from his apartment only minutes earlier. Her enticing scent lingered potently within the couch upon which he sat. What could have caused her to leave so quickly, before he could so much as greet her? Did she recall her drunken antics from the previous night, and was therefore embarrassed by her actions? There was definitely no need, in his opinion. He'd thoroughly enjoyed her solicitous attentions; however incited they were by intoxication. It had been enjoyable, the way she'd crawled atop him with bold intentions. Only a few minutes prior, had she discarded her clothing which had been soiled by drink. A result of her own scheming? He thought so, which served to make it all the more fascinating. For human women, it seemed that even casual sex was not to be taken overly lightly and required a sort of _lead-in_. The way she had been teasing him had driven him crazy. Unfortunately, when she had passed out due to overconsumption, it left him frustrated and yearning. He obviously still was, as the reflections caused him to stand at attention even now.

Leaning back contemplatively into the cushiony back of the couch, he silently wished Shepard luck. Though it certainly seemed like a simple assignment, he had no idea what might actually await her in the back of Chora's Den. But if the rumors he'd heard about the exceptional human were true, she'd overcome whatever obstacles Fist chose to launch at her.


	6. Spectre Business

Saren stood before The Council, his demeanor placid despite the agitation he strongly felt. Also in attendance was his friend and former mentee, Nihlus Kryik. The younger turian was a marvelous Spectre. He was well respected and a paragon among their ranks. However, when Saren discovered his choice of a Spectre candidate, he was livid. He had been opting for a human candidate by the name of Commander Kaidan Alenko. He'd never heard of this individual, nor did he want to. For him, there was only one human he'd even tolerate having among their ranks. As soon as he'd caught wind of Nihlus's nomination, he immediately voiced his own. The Council had been considering Adrianna Shepard as a possible Spectre candidate for a while now. And while Saren didn't particularly enjoy the fact that the newly discovered species was quickly shoving their way into Citadel affairs, he couldn't avoid it either. The human presence was strong and The Council could only put off accepting one of them into their assembly for so long. But before the nomination of a human councilor would occur, they'd need a Spectre. For Saren, the choice was clear, but apparently for them, it required more formalities.

Tevos, the asari councilor was the first to speak. "We have received both of your candidate nominations for the Spectre ranks and find them both to be viable options."

The turian councilor, Sparatus spoke next. "I am a bit surprised that _you_ have chosen a human, Saren Arterius. We are all aware of where you stand with humans and their desire to expand their influence in Citadel affairs."

Saren stared back at the turian councilor's holo, his icy blue eyes determined and unwavering. "If the human presence can't be avoided, I might as well ensure we have the best person for the job."

"I see," was Sparatus' only response.

"Since you have both provided us with a different candidate you will each be required to take charge of your respective nominees." This time it was Valern, the salarian councilor, who spoke.

"What do you propose?" Nihlus asked curiously.

"Your next few missions will be completed alongside your mentee. The reports you provide us will determine who we choose to accept into the Spectre ranks."

Saren was aghast. Following Nihlus' initiation, Saren only ever worked alone. Anyone else would only stand in his way and he wasn't about to let some human keep him from completing missions to his specifications. "For what reason?" he snarled. He could see growing amusement in the turian councilor's gaze.

"What better way to test your candidates?" Sparatus said pleasantly. "Besides, your mission reports will indicate if you still feel they are deserving of the honor of Spectre status."

Saren clenched his teeth in annoyance. He wasn't certain what outcome Sparatus was hoping for; either that Saren revoke his nomination in distaste of working with another or to simply prove to Saren that he'd made a poor choice when his reports alluded to such.

"Do you accept these terms?" Valern questioned the two Spectres standing before them.

Both turian Spectres nodded, neither one eager to admit premature defeat.

"Good. We will send correspondence to your candidates," Tevos stated. "If they accept, we will provide you each with your mission objectives."

* * *

"Do you have it?"

The deep resonation of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Passively, she handed him the envelope which contained a pretty hefty list of business contacts. The list included everything, from meal purchases Fist had made months prior, to black market weapon purchases. What it didn't include, were those she took special interest in; the names of red sand dealers and slave traders. She avoided making eye contact with him during their exchange, unsure of what she would find if she did. Two days ago she'd had a very unpleasant experience that concluded with her walking home dressed only in underwear and a blanket. She still wasn't quite sure of the details surrounding her actions that previous night, but she could only assume the worst.

He took the envelope with enthusiasm, in turn, handing her a second envelope. "Your payment."

She immediately shoved the plain envelope in her pocket.

"So about the job…" the general started.

"You got what you wanted," the woman stated evenly, daring a glance into his sand colored eyes.

"I'm not arguing that, Shepard. But killing Fist… Was that necessary?"

She raised her chin determinately, as she had during so many prior debriefings with her Alliance superiors. "I only do what is necessary to complete the mission."

"I see," Septimus responded with unsurety. "Then I suppose detonating explosives in his private quarters was also necessary for mission success?"

"Negative. That was to cover my ass and to ensure I'm not subject to any investigative bullshit."

He finally laughed. "Alright, Shepard."

"Let me know if you hear of any other jobs. I'll have quite a bit of spare time now that Chora's Den will be closed down for a while."

He nodded. "Will do. But, I'm sure you'll find your compensation to be enough to live comfortably for a while."

"Good." She smirked. "No doubt jobs like these are few and far between, here on the Citadel."

"You'd be surprised." He winked knowingly.

Shepard shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Well I'll see ya around," she said finally.

But before she could make her escape, Septimus stopped her. "Shepard."

She peered at him questionably, waiting for him to say his peace.

"About the other night…"

_Ah fuck_, she thought bitterly. She had hoped he wouldn't bring this up; not now. "Honestly I don't remember much. So whatever I did I apologize."

Septimus chuckled at this; a curiously good-natured chuckle. And before Shepard knew it, she felt her back flush against the wall with the turian gazing down at her with predatory eyes.

"Shepard," he reverberated, "the only thing you should apologize for is falling asleep before finishing what you started."

She stared up at him in shock. "Huh? You mean we didn't-?"

He shook his head. "Almost, but not quite. Unfortunately," he added, his words accompanied with a deep growl.

A giddy smile crossed her lips, causing him to respond with a frown.

"Did the thought of sleeping with me disturb you so?" he questioned accusingly.

She raised her hands up, between their bodies, in protest. "No! Not at all! I just thought I'd done something embarrassing is all."

He grinned as he breathed in her scent. She wondered what emotions she was emitting. How exposed was she to his probing senses? Could he sense her arousal? Her apprehension? His hot breath fanned over her face and trailed down her neck, only enticing her more carnal urges and suppressing her more indifferent ones.

"I had your clothes cleaned," he rasped. "If you would like them back we could go to my apartment…"

Her heart pounded in her chest and she hoped he couldn't hear it, because she certainly could. It roared in her ears like ocean waves crashing against a rocky shore. Go to his apartment? A tempting offer indeed. She wouldn't drink this time, of course. "Well, I—" She was cut short by a presence looming behind Septimus. Despite only being able to see the person's feet, she could tell that it was a turian and that he or she was watching them.

The turian cleared his throat. She could tell he was a male due to the bass in his vocals, even from that simple sound.

Septimus didn't bother to hide his disappointment as he turned to the intruder. When he moved, she could see the other turian was none other than the Spectre she had met in Chora's Den and the Presidium apartment elevator. _What does he want_? she wondered bitterly.

"Saren," the general greeted levelly. "Do you need something?"

_Saren_. _So that's his name._

"I need to talk," he replied, glancing from turian to human. His expression revealed a trace of annoyance.

"I'll meet with you later. I am a bit busy at the moment." Septimus' voice clearly emitted a tone of warning, however judging from the Spectre's growing agitation, she wondered if there was more going on between their interracial communication.

"I'm sure you can go find yourself an asari to play with," Saren bit out. "Besides, it's _her_ I need to speak with."

Septimus turned back to peer at Shepard, who appeared just as surprised by the Spectre's statement. Why would he need to speak with her? As far as she could tell he disliked her in every way.

"Why business do you have with Shepard?" Septimus questioned. She could tell he didn't trust the other turian, despite them being acquaintances.

"Spectre business," Saren replied.

Septimus narrowed his gaze at him. "I see." When he focused his attention back to her she could still make out the hunger in his features. "I'll be at my apartment in case you wish to join me," he told her, a wide, suggestive grin exposing razor-sharp teeth.

Once the general was out of sight, she turned her full attention to the Spectre before her. "So… _Saren_, is it? To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I wanted to ensure that you intend on accepting the offer."

She blinked at him in confusion. "Offer? What offer?"

His frosty avian stare narrowed with noticeable impatience. "Do you not read your messages?" But the moment she raised her omni tool to activate it, he held up his hand. "I'll spare you the formal dribble. To put it plainly, you've been selected as a candidate for the elite Spectres."

"The Spectres?" This was an interesting turn of events, but what was the catch?

"Yes. If you accept you will begin your trial with me. You will follow my orders until you are fully initiated into the Spectre ranks. From there your orders will be given by The Council."

_Orders from him? That must be the catch_. "Why me?" she questioned aloud.

"Because. If not you they will choose another human. Commander Kaidan Alenko." He said the name with lingering dissatisfaction. However, it was clear he didn't know the human biotic, but rather disliked the idea of him.

She gaped at him in response to his statement. "Kaidan?"

"You know him?"

"We served together on several occasions. While he didn't typically agree with my methods he was quite the pushover. Rumor had it he remained at my six so he could watch my ass more closely." She smiled whimsically at the thought. "So he's a commander now, huh?"

"So it would seem."

"And only one of us will be chosen for Spectreship?"

"Yes. And I prefer it be you."

She tapped her chin curiously. "But I thought you detested me."

Saren shrugged. "Your race is bold and overflowing with a sense of entitlement. Humans, as a whole, have not yet proven their worth. But we are now at a crossroad, and I think the first step should begin with someone who is not _completely_ inept."

"You had me until you added the '_completely'_ part."

"So you'll accept?"

She shot him a knowing grin. "You bet your sweet turian ass. No way am I letting _Commander_ Alenko get one-up on me."

"I can honestly say I'm relieved. Send your response to the Council and be prepared to leave in a week." And with that he turned to leave.

_Hmm, I forgot to ask about the pay and benefits… _she thought silently, her eyes following his swift movements.

Shepard wasn't sure how long she stood there, contemplating her conversation with the Spectre. She didn't know much about the duties of Spectres, however, being the first human accepted into the elite ranks held quite a bit of charm. Preparations would be needed within the week. Maybe she would use the credits she'd just received from the general to buy some new gear. _The general -_- _Septimus._ He was waiting for her upstairs. But did she dare go up? She stared hard at the darkened staircase that would return her to the Wards; to her own apartment. Thoughtfully, she then considered the elevator that would take her to _him_. She found that she wouldn't give it a second thought, though. She had already made her decision.


	7. The Elevator Affair

**A/N: I was so enthralled by the reviews last chapter! Thank you! I hope you enjoy this next chapter. And remember... interesting things can happen ME elevators :)**

* * *

Septimus attempted to roll over atop the firm surface of his mattress but the sheets twisted restrictively around his waist. Groaning in sleepy frustration, he pulled the constricting fabric off of his body. Just then his hand bumped against something solid beside him and it had taken a moment to realize that the female from last night had not yet left. This came as a surprise to him since she had refused to stay any of the previous nights. The Presidium was still shrouded in darkness, however she would have typically been gone by now. Why, he wondered, had she decided to remain with him into early morning?

He lightly stroked a hand down her side as he admired her sleeping form. Her skin was so soft despite the scars that marked a good portion of her. Muscles, still present from years of training and battle, rippled under her flesh, twitching beneath his exploring fingers. He hadn't had much time to properly survey the swooping contours of her luscious figure before now. Their sex over the past four days had been driven by wild, carnal desires, each time becoming seemingly more intense than the next. Perhaps it was because they were each experiencing something much different than they were used to. While asari were similar in form, their skin textures differed from a human's. Human flesh tended to be much smoother, pliable, and less thick. This also seemed to make them much more susceptible to damage from turian claws and teeth. She didn't seem to mind much though as none of it seemed to tame her passions. Turians, tended to lose control in intense sexual situations and it was a struggle to keep his primal urges restrained. He had, however, managed to take enough care so as to not draw blood.

As his hands continued their exploration, it wasn't until they began to wander over her supple breasts that she finally stirred under his touch. Shepard shifted herself slightly and peered up at him with hooded eyes. "What are you up to?" she questioned mischievously, a sleepy smile crossing her lips.

"Who? Me? Why, nothing at all!" He shot her an innocent look.

"Uh, huh." She didn't look at all convinced.

"I was just surprised you stayed, is all," he confessed.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No, of course not."

"Good, cause your apartment is way more comfortable than mine!" she declared, sticking her tongue out at him.

He chuckled at the strange action. Humans were the only known species who used their tongues to signify a mocking gesture. "Don't stick that out unless you plan on using it."

When she grinned in response his stomach fluttered. "Very original."

"Does it have to be original to work?" he reverberated deeply.

"Nope." Pressing her hand against his chest, she shoved him onto his back. She immediately crawled over him and set to work on showing him _exactly_ what human's tongues were capable of.

* * *

"I want that one," Shepard stated, practically drooling over the HMWA assault rifle listed on the requisition inventory screen.

Saren scowled down at her. "That model is limited to Spectres only. Since you're not one yet you must choose another."

Shepard made a face. Why did he bother bringing her here at all if she was limited to such basic models? "Fine, how about the Kovalyov?"

He grimaced. "How about the Banshee?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, her expression grew hard. "Kovalyov."

He growled deeply, his impatience elevating rapidly. "Fine. But you'll be exchanging the Titan for Phoenix."

Her mouth fell open, aghast by the thought. Armor was largely one of the most important pieces for a soldier. Most fighting was done close to medium range and heavy armor rating is what kept your ass in one piece. "No way!" she argued.

"Then we'll take the Banshee," he told the requisition officer.

The requisition officer, a dark-plated turian with bright white clan markings, inspected the irate human woman with interest. "How about I give you a set discount on the Kovalyov and the Titan?" he suggested.

She gawked at him. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Certainly." he said with a wide grin. "I would like to see you keep coming back. And not _only_ because it would mean more sales."

Shepard blushed. "I look forward to seeing what else you have to offer in future transactions," she replied, meeting his flirty statement with one of her own.

Saren glowered at the exchange. "Good," he interrupted. "I think we're done here then. Officer Demicus, please have the items delivered to my ship by tomorrow." His voice emitted a harsh, challenging tone and it distinctively caught the officer's attention.

"Of course," Officer Demicus replied. He met Shepard's gaze once more before returning to his work.

"You smell like a male turian," Saren told her bluntly when they'd left the requisition desk behind.

"Excuse me?" she demanded, arching an inquisitive brow. What an odd statement. And what the hell did a male turian smell like? Should she be offended?

"Officer Demicus sensed the male turian pheromones on you," Saren explained. "That makes it clear you were having some type of sexual relation with one. You are also unmarked, which means there's a possibility you're accepting new partners."

"Unmarked? Is that similar to clan markings?" She just noticed that he didn't have any and silently wondered why. Did he abandon his clan? Was he exiled? She wasn't sure she would ever find out the answer to that mystery as this turian was full of secrecies and would seemingly rather keep it that way.

"No, not at all," he replied. "When turians are committed to only one mate, they may visibly mark one another with their teeth to show they are no longer available. Additionally, there is a specific pheromone emitted during coupling of bond mates; similar to that of sex pheromones but serves to act as more of a warning to aspiring rivals than an invitation to mate. However, since you possess neither of these, he evidently saw you as fair game. The presence of another turian's scent also serves to provide a tempting challenge."

"I see," she replied thoughtfully.

"A word of advice," he put in as she clapped a single foot against the metal elevator floor.

She turned to look at him. His expression was indiscernible.

"Don't get too attached to Septimus Oraka. He is only toying with you and will easily discard you as soon as he finds another who piques his interest."

Cocking her head she smiled at him, unconcerned about his statement. She wasn't particularly worried about Septimus. They were not committed to one another and were free to do as they wished. However, she found it amusing that Saren would jump to such a conclusion about her. "Sounds like you're jealous."

He laughed cruelly, bumping his way past her and into the enclosed space. "Don't be so full of yourself, human. Your species does _nothing_ for me."

She arched a dark brow and barked an uncommittal laugh. Following after him, the door closed behind. She stood before the Spectre, her _mentor_, eyeing him arrogantly. "Is that so?"

When he remained silent she moved in nearer, placing only a couple centimeter gap between their bodies. "Then I suppose it won't bother you if I stand closer."

She immediately observed a fragment of arousal buried in the depths of his disapproval. The sexual pheromones were no doubt invading his senses while at this proximity. There was something about watching him squirm that made her feel in power. The way in which he viewed himself as a superior being stirred up a need to get under his tough skin. And his detest of humans would make it all the more enjoyable.

"What about if I touched you here?" she hummed, her fingers making contact with the sensitive section of flesh above his hips. She had quickly learned from Septimus about this particular turian erogenous zone. And when Saren growled deeply in response, she knew that she was playing a dangerous game with this particular individual. However, she wasn't one to typically back away from danger, but rather seek it out.

"Don't entice me," he snarled. His gaze burned into her in a way that emanated a mixture of revulsion and lust. A strange combination, but he somehow managed to pull it off.

She grinned widely, looking up at him through her dark eyelashes. The need to bring him down a few notches intensified with each moment. She lived dangerously, that was for sure. This was made evidently clear when she boldly raised her hand in close proximity to his mouth, which was perilously lined with razor-sharp teeth. He flinched as her fingertips meticulously stroked the underside of his jawline; another apparent erogenous zone for turians. It didn't take much ministration of this particular action until something within him ticked. With an animalistic roar invading her ears and a sudden strong grip enveloping her wrist, she felt herself forced back. Not anticipating such a quick and violent reaction, she nearly lost her footing and staggered clumsily. A forceful breath was expelled from her lungs as her back slammed against metal.

The moment she regained her awareness he was already on her, the great force of his body squashing hers against the hard encasing of the elevator. Her arms were pinned high, with sharp talons nicking precariously at her flesh. His furious, ragged breath bore down on her dangerously and his eyes where wild and predatory. She'd gone too far, she knew. But would he dare kill her in this elevator? Despite being a Spectre with significant immunity, she wasn't so sure. Just in case, however, she immediately began contemplating every fathomable way to disable a turian in close range combat. But that was until she felt a suspiciously unaggressive nip at her neck.

She blinked in confusion, her heart still beating rapidly within her chest. What was he up to? Was he trying to lower her defenses? Another nip - this one more intense and penetrating – sent a jolt down her body. Unable to discern his predictability at this point, she remained still. She'd feel out the situation a bit more while remaining on her guard, ready to act when necessary. What she wouldn't admit to herself was that she was oddly aroused by the turn of events and the risk it presented.

The heat from his breath made her teased skin flush pink and wanting. His serpentine tongue slicked out to taste it. The intimate touch made her tremble against his body and a soft moan to escape her quivering lips. Driving his hips against hers with unwavering desire, he growled against her skin. "You shouldn't have persisted."

Her first instinct was to respond with anger or spite, but instead she clamped her mouth shut and remained uncharacteristically silent. Her body was now responding on its own and was unwilling to do anything that might compromise its current state of gratification, no matter how much her mind willed against it.

Keeping her body pinned, he released her arms; but only so that is now free hands could busy themselves elsewhere. Gripping her hip tightly with one hand, the other grasped at the thick strap of her tank top, ripping it downward to expose more of the flesh for which he hungered. He was not at all careful in his conduct and his talons raked bright red streaks along her shoulder. This particular pain went unnoticed to Shepard at first, buried as she was in the depths of her mounting desire. But as the hand on her hip began to constrict relentlessly, she couldn't help but perceive the sensation of daggers puncturing her supple flesh. They dug deeper, curling inward and drawing a pained cry from her mouth. The sound only seemed to entice Saren further and he ground his excitement against her with agonizing force. The blades in her flesh could no longer be ignored and she furiously grasped his hand and tried to pry it from its hold.

He growled in response, thrusting himself against her in warning.

"Stop!" she demanded authoritatively. This situation was getting much too severe for her liking and she had to put an end to it before he caused any real damage.

He ignored her plea, clamping his teeth around the arch of her shoulder. He was attempting to fortify his dominance over her, she assumed, and it hurt like hell. She was not, however, the type to submit under force and frankly, she feared where this was going. Almost instinctively, she jabbed a fist into his side to inform him that she was, in fact, serious. He took this as his queue to release her from his grasp, and did so, if but a tad reluctantly. To her surprise he backed away with no further demands and glared at her with growing contempt.

"Just what I'd expect of you humans," he snarled. "You can instigate but cannot follow through."

"The problem is that you apparently forgot I _am_ human!" she retorted through clenched teeth. Her hand clamped tightly to its opposite shoulder. The wound stung with the contact of salty skin and it made her wince. Crimson streams trickled down her arm and seeped up through her fingers.

The fleeting appearance of remorse showed in his eyes, before he was able to will it away. Did he actually feel sorry for hurting her? Or was he simply angry at himself for believing, if only for an instant, she was anything other than human? She wouldn't be surprised if it was a bit of both. It _was _a bit startling, however, when he pulled something from his pocket. A packet of what appeared to be medi-gel.

"Put this on before it scars," he told her, his voice flat and unrevealing.

Taking the packet, she nodded her thanks and immediately began applying the healing gel to both her shoulder and hip. When she was about finished with her ministrations, Saren finally saw fit to select the button that would take the elevator to the ascending floor.

When the elevator came to a stop at the Wards, Saren stopped her before she could leave. "Do you need anything?" he inquired, glancing hesitantly at her already closing wounds.

She shook her head. "Trust me, I've had worse."

"I know," he replied matter-of-factly. When she gave him a confused stare he suspiciously changed the subject. "Will you be ready to depart the Citadel in two days?" It was almost as if he was inquiring whether or not she was still _willing _to go.

"I'll be ready," she replied. Determination was a constant driver in her life, and one mishap was not going to deter her now. Besides, she could only blame herself and her own stubbornness for what had just happened between them. She did know, however that this event would either serve to deepen the rift between them or begin to bridge it.


End file.
